


Tremolos

by CarolNJoy



Series: Defining Nobility: L'Été de l'Amour [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Artists, Awkward Crush, Crush at First Sight, F/M, France (Country), Friendship, Headcanon, Historical, Inspiration, Muses, Music, One Shot, Romance, Secret Crush, Summer, Summer Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolNJoy/pseuds/CarolNJoy
Summary: The summer solstice gala is upon them and there is someone playing an enchanting tune in the music room. Angélique investigates.
Relationships: Angelique/Fife (Disney)
Series: Defining Nobility: L'Été de l'Amour [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194794
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Tremolos

The way seasons came and went in this castle, it was as though Angélique always had décor to plan.

In the winter, there was Christmas Eve, Day, and New Year's. Then Chandeleur and the Epiphany—that is, the celebration of the Three Kings arriving to see the infant Jesus—followed shortly after. Carnaval was a fourteen-day affair and involved cooperation with the nearby villages and towns. _That_ was always a headache at first, though it brought rewards. Lent was a nice break, but it only gave her a little extra time to prepare for the grand Easter celebration they always held. May and June were dotted with small events that followed, including Fête du Muguet, the Ascension, and Pentecost. Not to mention, she didn't solely decorate for holidays, but for dinners with ambassadors and foreign dignitaries.

Now it was time for the summer solstice gala they held in the château gardens annually without fail. She enjoyed decorating an organic environment, but it also brought other challenges, such as if the weather wasn't in their favor. She essentially had to plan _two_ different galas: One indoors and one out. It had taken almost her entire day, but she felt confident about what she'd devised, including a detailed supply list and placement, complete with sketches.

Her plans in hand, she left her workspace to meet with Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts in the majordomo's office. She felt they were good, but… she wasn't as confident about them as she normally was. Maybe she simply needed a second opinion.

The halls leading to his office, however, were littered with maids attending to their cleaning, so as it was normally pretty tranquil and quiet at this time of day, she opted for a detour through the South Wing.

She was halfway down when she realized… it wasn't as quiet as she'd predicted. There was something soft, woody, and… wholesome drifting along the corridor to greet her ears.

Feeling a pull toward it, she strayed down the fork that was off her path until she came to be in front of what she was sure was the music room.

This was strange. She couldn't recall the last time it had really been put to use during working hours by Their Majesties. Besides, the only instrument really played out of it was the harpsichord, and Lumière was normally the one to be caught tinkering with it.

Whatever it was, some employee here was both in possession of a hidden talent _and_ slacking off.

She should simply let them be. It wasn't any of her business what others chose to do with themselves, even if they probably have chores to be attending to. She wasn't one of the heads of staff.

Then again… a warning to them on her part would be the responsible thing to do.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the person inside, she opened the door a crack.

A lean frame on the shorter side of average height was silhouetted by the sun streaming through the windows. It was a man, but… not one she could make out; his back was partially to her. But his dress was not of a lowly servant. He turned toward her, and she now saw the sounds she was hearing were from a flute.

Angélique watched as he swayed to his playing, which she found rather endearing. He dotted his phrases with delicate trills that sounded so easy and natural…

He concluded his piece and opened his eyes, as though coming out of meditation. His eyes then met hers, and in that instant, she realized she had strayed into the room, in full view of him.

He jumped. " _Oh!_ Oh my…" He clutched his heart and tugged at his cravat as Angélique grimaced in remorse. "I didn't notice you were—"

"I am so sorry. I did not mean to startle you!"

With trepidation, he asked, "How long have you been… standing there?"

"Er…" Angélique began to blush. _Dieu,_ when did _that_ ever happen? "Not long, I assure you, but enough to have heard… I only…"

In her bizarre struggle for words, his eyes widened. "Oh! Did I disturb you? Do you work nearby? I didn't realize—"

" _Non, non,_ you misunderstand!" Angélique clutched her forehead in her own bewilderment at herself for getting so flustered. "I only happened to be passing by, and I couldn't help but hear your playing and it was…" She managed a sincere smile then. "… lovely."

His brows rose, and a sweet, relieved smile passed briefly over his mouth. "That's… very kind of you. _Merci._ "

Angélique finished regathering her facilities before she noted, "I… do not believe we have met."

"No, I… don't believe so. Then again, I only just began my residency here. I still have much to acquaint myself with. This castle is… _enormous._ "

Angélique laughed. "That, it is. In the meantime, do not be afraid to ask for directions."

He nodded eagerly. "Of course, of course." He hopped a little as if he just remembered his manners, but his courtly bow was well-practiced. "François la Clé, at your service. I was recently instated as the court composer to Their Majesties."

"Ah! So that would explain the musical virtuosity I just witnessed."

His cheeks flushed as he ducked his head. "Y—You flatter me, surely. The piece is not yet ready for an audience. My fingering is still a tad rusty. They're so used to playing something shorter."

"Like what?"

"Like a, uh… recorder, or fife."

"I see…" _Does he mean he plays_ _ **three**_ _instruments?_

She did her best to stem her astonishment as she answered, "If that is the case, then I am certain the performance will sound heavenly." She curtsied. "I am the castle decorator, Angélique Garnier."

"Mademoiselle Garnier…" he repeated before inclining his head again. "Truly a pleasure. I… I look forward to seeing your work."

"And I look forward to seeing yours—or hearing, rather." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'll not intrude on your practice any longer. _Pardonnez-moi_ , Monsieur la Clé."

"Fife," he chirped, but then his hand clapped to his mouth, his ears flushing.

Angélique blinked, her blue eyes wide. "I'm… I'm sorry?"

"My—My apologies," he fumbled. "I meant you can—you _may_ —if you so wish, to… call me Fife." He waved a shaky hand in dismissal. "Old nickname… one I'm used to."

 _Mon Dieu,_ the nervous energy emanating from this one was palpable! Performance anxiety, perhaps? A rather counter-intuitive thing for a musician to possess…

Before Angélique could respond, Fife went on, "But please, please don't concern yourself with thinking you… intruded. Music is… meant to be heard, after all."

She had to smile at that. "Indeed. May other passersby enjoy it as well."

With another departing curtsey as he exchanged a bow, Angélique left the room and shut the door behind her. It was silly of her to keep them waiting on such a distraction, but… getting introduced to a new castle resident wasn't much of a _distraction_ , was it? It was only what was proper.

She set off again at her power-walking pace to meet the heads of staff, but as she did, she found herself trying to hum out that tune on her own. There was something quite catchy about it…

* * *

Every day after for the next week, Fife was hammering away at his composition in the music room for hours and hours. It was a flute concerto to debut at the summer solstice gala in honor of Their Majesties. He felt extremely confident about the melody of the flute but composing the accompaniment that underscored it was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. He attempted various chord progressions on the harpsichord that might do, but… he simply couldn't find the right mood or tone he intended. Sheets of parchment were going to waste because of him, so a sense of guilt was accumulating alongside his feelings of panic and failure.

One thing that brought him some solace was the view of the gardens he had from his perch in the music room. Such a marvelously beautiful prospect sat perpetually beside him. When his frustration was escalating, he could look outside and be greeted by a brilliant blue sky and such artfully trimmed parterres, they were like a salve to his ever-frantic mind.

One particularly sunny day, he stood from the harpsichord to crack open a couple of the windows to catch a piece of the balmy summer breeze when he then took notice of the activity taking place below. Gardeners and maids bustled about setting down lanterns, planting new colorful flowers, and arranging large tasteful bouquets in pots large and small, and at its center was the angelic blonde who had stumbled upon him in the midst of practice.

His face burned at the memory. He truly must have seemed like an incompetent sap, but she had caught him so terribly off-guard. One moment, he was invested in the soothing timbre of his flute, and the next, he'd discovered he had a spectator. He supposed he could forgive himself for not being as composed initially, but to that extent? It had been mortifying!

Fife sighed and began to pace the window. He should just sit back down and continue wracking his brains about his accompaniment, but every glance at the half-scribbled-on lined paper on the harpsichord's stand just made him run his hand over his face. His flight instincts were beginning to kick in.

With one more resolute glance outside, he took up his music stand, the sheet music containing his solo, and his flute case and marched out of the music room.

* * *

After having to ask a footman and a maid for directions downstairs, Fife found the doors leading out to the gardens. At the threshold, however, he almost collided with incoming maids carrying in planted flowers.

He spun inelegantly out of the way, stammering his apologies as he clutched his music and stand to his person. In his hurry, the sheets went askew and threatened to slip from his grasp, so he leaned to his other side attempting to recenter it. He did so successfully, but not without appearing to do this odd worm-like dance. A couple of passing maids audibly stifled giggles, and as soon as he'd regained his footing and composure, he ducked his head outdoors to cool the heat that had risen to his cheeks.

Stepping down the stone stairs to the path, Fife looked around to get his bearings… and remind himself why he was out here carrying these awkward and fragile objects in the first place.

 _Gazebo…_ he reminded. _Gazebo, gazebo, where was the ga—aha!_

His feet clacked on the gravel as he marched with purpose toward the structure at the back of the gardens, but it was frequently interrupted by the likewise purposeful crossings of servants going about their tasks. Mumblings of "excuse me" and "pardon me" came out every few seconds if not less, and he was beginning to question if being in the way like this was worth the effort.

Then his eyes landed on Mlle Garnier showing a maid how to arrange garlands on the stone banisters and his feet paused as they hit the grass. What had he been thinking wasn't worth it? Ah well…

Goodness, she stood so tall and her manner was so confident and determined...

Feeling his mouth had gone dry, he licked his lips and began striding toward her.

As he neared her, she hadn't looked up from being bent over the banister as she wrapped the garland.

"Ex—Excuse me, Mad—Mademoiselle Garnier?"

Her gaze immediately met his, and for a brief instant, with how she furrowed her fair brows, she looked displeased. But the line they created disappeared as she registered him.

"Monsieur la Clé!" she greeted with a smile and straightened.

 _My…_ Fife swallowed as he looked up at her. She must have been a good three inches taller than him. Distance truly had distorted his own perception that day they'd met. Sure, he'd been used to being towered over by other men, as more than half were, especially those in the military, but girls rarely ever did. She was an Amazon!

"How can I help you?" Angélique glanced at the instruments in his hands with curiosity.

"I, erm…" Fife felt his grip slipping on the stand and he had to pause to heft it up and better his grasp again. Were his palms sweating? Good God…

"Actually, it's… nothing you can _help_ me with, per se, but I—I hoped I could possibly, um… _test_ the acoustics of the space. You know, the—the gazebo?" He hurried to add, "That is... if I wouldn't be a disturbance to you or your work. That would be the _last_ thing I'd want!"

"Disturb us?" she repeated, almost confused. "Of course not! Please, by all means, do what you must. I am the _last_ one to stand in an artist's way."

Her smile was just so uplifting, he had to smile back. "Indeed. We artists must… stick together, _non?"_ He looked around with great admiration. "Everything looks… splendid."

A laugh escaped her, but it was a positive one; not one where he wondered if it were at _him._ "That is very kind of you, _merci._ Like you said about your work, however, it is not yet finished. Perhaps let me know if your mind changes by the time it _is_ finished."

"As long as you do mine—do _the same_ for mine… my own work." Oh, how he wanted to melt into the lawn, but somehow… she didn't—at least—visibly _show_ she was bothered by his floundering.

" _Oui,_ I shall," she seemed to promise.

Oh, she was much too gracious! If only he could carry this on… but he should move on before he embarrasses himself further— _again._ "Anyhow, I am much obliged to you."

" _De rien,_ naturally. Do you…" She pointed to what he carried. "Do you need any assistance with that?"

He managed a grin and shrugged. "I've gotten this far. But thank you for the offer."

Mirroring his grin, she nodded to him before a maid called her attention away, and the additional ray of sunshine had moved to another.

Shuffling the rest of the distance to the shady wooden gazebo, Fife ascertained that his intention for two of each kind of stringed instrument wasn't conducive for the space. This really put a spear through his plans.

Perhaps… two violins, a viola, and a cello? But what about the _continuo?_ Having the harpsichord lugged out here was a dangerous endeavor and—not to cause offense to anyone who worked at this castle but—he didn't trust _any_ group of men here, however selective, to be careful enough with such a temperamental instrument down four flights of stairs. It simply couldn't be done.

He sighed; he'd have to think on it. For now, time to do what he came for.

After setting up his stand and pulling out his flute from its case, he played some scales in a few different volumes to determine the precise resonance needed. Being outdoors always caused for some accommodations, but he at least had some reverb under a roof. Attuned now to the space, he took a deep breath for the long starting phrase of his solo and began.

Chatter and bustle from the decorating staff continued without pause, which he didn't mind in the slightest. At this moment, he wasn't seeking any sort of attention, though he knew it to be inevitable in some capacity. He was letting the atmosphere of the gardens and the weather, with its vibrant greenery, wispy-cloud-dotted sky, and soothing wafts of wind, spur him on. He wanted to soak up the essence of summer and imbue it into his piece. That was his ultimate goal.

But his eyes were straying to what was occurring in the foreground: the decisive yet affable leadership exhibited by Angélique as she instructed all on how to execute her vision to the letter.

He didn't know what it had been about her that was causing him to get all fluttery and nervous about her, but also feel enlivened and… excited. She _had_ shown such kindness upon stumbling into the music room that day, more so than many of the staff in the lower tiers. It seemed as though the castle servants had their… cliques, as it were, which would require him to assimilate, or even go through some sort of initiation ceremony. The boys in the regiments he'd played with and for had been practically the same, so it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. It was awfully stressful and cumbersome though.

Not only that but… even today, she seemed to have a degree of… _respect_ for him, though he knew not how he'd earned it. Was he making it all up in his head?

Her cherubic blue eyes then met his and his heart plummeted to his buckled shoes. He quickly averted his stare down to his music, but he wasn't even reading it as he continued to blow into his flute on autopilot. Was the warmth in his cheeks and ears noticeable under the shade from this distance? By heaven, he hoped not…

* * *

Fife returned to the sanctity of the music room soon after, and he couldn't tell whether to be thankful or disappointed. He'd heard what he'd needed to after all, and the gazebo was the last structure in the garden they'd had to embellish; they'd held off that task so they hadn't disturbed his work. He didn't have to wonder long on whose consideration it had been… or was it?

Either way, he had actually gotten more out of his little excursion than expected. Being out in the arena he'd play in had stirred his creative juices to a startling degree. He thought about the flowers and their scents, the smell of soil, how the sun reflected off the leaves and brought out the brightest shade of green from the grass… but his mind also strayed to how Angélique's hair had shined just like the sun on a clear day, and how full of purpose and in command she was orchestrating her vision to the most minute detail. She was firm, but understandably so. When it was one's craft, one demanded perfection.

He happily allowed his inspiration to bear its fruit. He was scribbling continuously onto his sheet music until his candle had become a deformed stub on its wick. It really felt like it was coming together.

And to think, all it had taken was just a sincere compliment and look of admiration from a stranger.

Over the next several days he'd finalized the piece and rehearsed it with the musicians—two of them old acquaintances in the region while the other three were friends of theirs that had come recommended by them. The music community was terribly small, but that was what Fife liked about it most. With their sight-reading being top-notch, a week was enough time to learn the music and perform it to his satisfaction.

* * *

The day before the scheduled gala, Angélique was heading to the gardens to arrange the tables, chairs, and tents. She was normally adamant about not setting them up last minute, but there had been two days of rain that had forced her to hold off. Then she'd had to allow for at least a day for the ground to dry. She was not about to have mud scuff up the legs and poles of the seating.

The last twenty-four hours before an event were dire, for much of the fine details had to be put in place the day of to prevent anything from getting misplaced or damaged right before. That was why her writing slate and pencil were in her hands as she strode down the corridors; she had to keep note of everything that needed to be done, and she checked and rechecked this list multiple times throughout the day. The tents and seating were one thing, but there was the carpet path to lay out on the grass to prevent stains from getting on anyone's silk shoes, cloths for the tables, decorative weights for the cloths to _stay_ in place should wind be on the stronger side—heaven forbid—and…

 _Oh, oui!_ she recalled. They had to be sure that the right porcelain, glasses, and dinnerware be taken out and cleaned for the occasion. She needed to consult Lumière later today.

As she was scribbling this reminder down on her slate, the tune she'd been hearing float from the music room crossed her mind. Once caught, it was too infectious not to hum it. That new court composer truly had talent. During her walks in the South Wing, she'd been able to hear him rehearsing with the musicians he'd hired to accompany him. It had soothed her and made her smile upon hearing the piece come together. It was going to be the highlight of the gala, she was sure.

"Mademoiselle Garnier!"

Her breath seized, ripping her from her reverie, and she turned to find… speak of the devil!

M. la Clé's bright smile immediately turned upside-down. "Oh—oh my, I'm _so_ sorry! I startled you. I should know better than to pop out like that. _Clearly,_ you were concentrating!"

She laughed good-naturedly. "I was, but… that is what was owed me. A scare for a scare, _oui?"_

It took an instant for him to register her meaning, but he laughed all the same. " _Oh,_ yes, yes… so, that makes us even then?"

"I would say so. Unless you had something else in mind?" she teased.

He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "Not at all. Nothing else going on up there…"

She smirked at his wording and felt tempted to laugh as he bit his lip before he cleared his throat. He was so endearing!

"Feel ready for tomorrow?" he asked.

She released a composed sigh. "I do, in fact! Everything came together more smoothly than expected, and especially more so than it usually does. I am quite satisfied. But how about you? My work is practically done, but your big moment is still upon you! How do you believe rehearsals have gone?"

His eyes lit up. "Fantastically! We play practically as one unit—just the way I like, and it only took six days of dedicated practice."

A bit of warmth filled her cheeks as she admitted, "So I heard. You all sounded just stunning. _Très beau,_ truly!"

He didn't answer but instead stared at her blankly. Her face felt _very_ warm now. "Oh, _non…_ Was I not meant to hear any of it? I did not consider you possibly desiring it to be revealed only the day of—"

He blinked and snapped out of his stupor. "No-no-no, it wasn't anything like that! I'm just…" His sweet lopsided smile appeared. "Your praise means a great deal."

"It is well-deserved. I truly admire how you can create such beautiful sounds and perform them just as well. Did I hear… strings? I did not peek this time!" she assured with a show of her hand.

"You did, yes! I have a string quartet accompanying me. Normally then, a harpsichord would be included in the arrangement, but, well… that poses a challenge. I had to pick another instrument that could easily play outside."

"Why? Does the harpsichord serve a specific purpose?"

"It does, actually. It establishes the rhythm and meter and provides chordal structure underneath all the melodies of the other instruments."

 _Fascinating..._ She had never realized music had so much structure and logic to it. She nodded. "Ah… And what did you choose?"

"A theorbo!" he announced, nearly skipping as they walked. "It turned out so marvelously, and it was all thanks to y—I mean… your allowing me to play… my flute… in the gardens, while you worked."

Angélique couldn't help but be touched. Truthfully, the ambience he had created that day had done wonders for her mood. Again, something about that piece was relaxing to her, but also stirred to see other possibilities in perfecting her vision. She was feeling very satisfied with everything… and she felt like she owed him for it in some way. But how to express that? She was never very good at these things, especially with mere acquaintances.

Instead, with a benevolent and pleased smile, she inclined her head and replied, "It was my duty: Anything to help the creative process. Besides, I was only too happy to reciprocate."

He tilted his head like a confused puppy. "How do you mean?"

_Of course he asks…_

She swept a loose lock behind her ear. "Well… your music has been a little infectious, I must say. After hearing it that one day, I added a bit more to my plans for the gala's décor. Did you happen to notice the paper lanterns strung from the gazebo? It turned out to be exactly what the space needed, and I do believe… that delightful melody caused it."

Her smile broadened, but mostly because his eyes looked about to pop out from his head. She was emboldened to add, "I have you to thank for the inspiration."

His mouth moved but no sound came out for a moment. "Y—You, too, mademoiselle!"

"Please, I insist you call me Angélique."

"Oh?"

" _Mais oui!_ After being muses for each other, that would dispense the need for formalities, would it not?"

"Well, you… you have a point."

This pesky lock fell again, so she stuck it away behind her ear again but with her pencil this time. "So… you prefer being addressed as Fife over François?"

He glanced out the windows they passed. "Not… necessarily. I certainly like the name _ma mère_ bestowed on me, of course, but 'Fife' feels more… I suppose, like home. It was bestowed on me by my first regiment. I worked in a military band for several years before this, you see."

"Did you now?" Questions flooded her mind. She never would have guessed such a history as that existed for such a timid man! It went to show how useless preconceived notions were in times like this.

But she had to rein in her curiosity; she didn't want to scare him away, after all, yet she couldn't help but be sincere in saying, "That sounds vastly more exciting than any other occupation _I_ have ever heard of!"

They'd reached the garden doors by then and were descending the stone steps, and Angélique felt a bit of… disappointment.

"It was," Fife admitted humbly, "and when out on the lines, could be… rather terrifying. But I was only too happy to serve how I could."

" _C'est incroyable!"_

She then looked to the vast amount of decorated gardens she had to inspect and put final touches on and deeply felt a pang of regret. Was it too much to ask? Should she?

"If… it wouldn't be too presumptuous, I would love to hear more about your work prior to coming here. Perhaps at dinner?"

There was that blank look again. That definitely confirmed she was coming on too strong. _Dieu,_ she wasn't used to having to tread this carefully!

Then he nodded vigorously. Relief eased through her shoulders, and a… contented kind of feeling, one she didn't recognize, filled her from her core.

"It is settled, then." She gave a parting wave and grin. "Have a wonderful practice."

His shoulders straightened and he beamed back at her. "I… I will. Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> This little fluff piece was encouraged by a Valentine's Day prompt, and yes, I do plan to make reference to it in the Defining Nobility series I have going on (the one with Noble Sentiments and Noble Intentions... in case that wasn't too on-the-nose...).
> 
> I've got a couple side pieces planned before I really get to work on Book III, so stay tuned for some fun after all that angst and drama from NS and NI!


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